Informal Inspirations
by Danny Phantom SG-1
Summary: A collection of oneshots. 3 - When the World Brings You Down - Jazz comforts Danny while trying to keep him in the dark that she knows about his secret.
1. Text Message

_A/N: Hi. *pokes brain* Look at that. I wrote a fanfiction. It's short and plotless, but I accomplished something fanfiction-related, and that is all that matters right now. Credit goes entirely to _sapphireswimming _for getting into DP fanfic, which in turn, got me _back _into DP fanfic, and now we are writing togetherrrrr. This is the first of a bunch of oneshots we are going to write all summer. Like a challenge series, I guess. To keep in touch when we're away from each other. *reaches out* _

_I shall explain this one's informal inspiration at the bottom. For now, read and enjoy if possible._

**_IMPORTANT: _**When you see *heart*, please pretend it is a "less-than-three" (heart), as fanfiction will not allow less-than signs. Normally, I understand this, but I only need it for one very important plot point. -_-****

* * *

><p><em>Where is There?<em>

Breathe. She had to remind herself to do this several times a day now, just to make sure she made it through. She had to make it through because people counted on her. People counted on her now—her and Tucker and Jazz—because the person all of them had counted on for so long…

Breathe.

Closing her eyes and settling down on the couch, she pulled out her cell phone and decided to fiddle with it to waste away the time before the next ghost attack came and sent her and her friends plunging into the dangers of the ecto-invaded world. But it wasn't so bad anymore. The danger seemed to lessen every day. It was as if the ghosts lost their drive, their motivation, when they realized who wouldn't be fighting them ever again…

Click. She pressed a random button on her phone angrily, berating herself for not getting over it fast enough and for letting it invade every waking thought. Granted, it had only been two weeks, and any normal person would still be in disbelief, staying home from school, sliding into dark depression…

But not her. No; her life was too supernatural and too concentrated on keeping others safe to fall into that stereotype. She never did conform to the expectations of society, anyway. Why follow their standards of the grieving process?

Nodding to herself, she decided to clean out her mass collection of text messages that had accumulated since the last time she'd deleted them. All of them, every time. She scoffed at those ditzy girls who carefully selected which text messages to keep and which to nonchalantly toss away forever. They would giggle with each other at lunch in remembrance of past texts, citing "I want to marry an enchilada lol" as their favorite late-night memory or the mushiest messages from their boyfriends that made their hearts soar…

She stopped right there before confirming the "Delete All" option. Biting her lip and closing her eyes, she fought back the overwhelming urge to let loose tears at this thought. She hated those girls for wasting their time with meaningless words typed in two seconds to appease their social necessities.

But she was willing to make one exception and one exception only.

She pressed cancel on the phone, something in her heart heaving a great sigh of relief at the action, and went through deleting conversations one by one instead. It was less efficient, for sure, but who needs efficiency when you're trying to waste time, anyway, right?

She went more and more slowly in her task, pausing shakily at every message as she got farther down the list, holding her breath in anticipation for that one she had remembered seconds before that fatal mistake.

There.

Involuntarily, she breathed in, her skin crawling with warmth and fear, and her head dizzy from seeing it again. This time, she didn't bite back as the droplets of water condensed around the corners of her eyes, and she allowed her finger to gently press the button on the message that still bore his name.

okay, i'll see u there. :) *heart*

She allowed her eyes to drink in the sight of that silly, simple message before closing them slowly and breathing shakily out. She hadn't realized until she heard herself breathe that she was effectively sobbing. She couldn't have that, so, placing the phone gingerly onto the coffee table—still open and bearing her sought-after message—she walked dazedly into the bathroom and, hands shaking, turned on the faucet, gathering water in her hands and splashing it onto her face messily to jolt her out of her haze. Her nightmare. But no amount of water would ever truly wake her up from this.

She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink and almost laughed. She was Sam. The girl who refused to be girly, who refused to conform to standards, who refused to cry. And here she was, in tears because of a _text message_.

No, she told herself. Not the text message. But the significance.

Two weeks ago—it was a Saturday just like today—she'd been lazily hanging around the house, procrastinating on homework and anxiously hoping someone would call to give her an excuse to do something. So when Danny had texted her, asking to meet at their usual hangout, she'd immediately responded with an ecstatic "YES! Please! :)," ready to bolt out the door then and there. She'd smiled and pictured him chuckling at her uncharacteristic enthusiasm. And she'd laughed when he'd sent that last text.

The sideways-heart at the end had puzzled her. But she didn't want to be one of those girls who read too much into platonic-love-less-than-threes, so she'd promptly thrown on her shoes and rushed out the door, heading for the awkwardly-named burger joint.

That jaunt down the sidewalk was the last time she could remember feeling happy.

Before she got there—long before—she heard the familiar sounds of a ghost fight. The laser-whooshing sound of an ectoblast, the screams of fear from passers-by, and Danny's occasional cries of pain as he miscalculated his opponent. Before she could think, she was running towards the sound of the brawl, checking her belt on the way to make sure she had a thermos on hand just in case.

And, suddenly, right when she got there, the world ended.

He came into her view, a lonely figure in the sky, until an unnaturally strong and brutal blast met with him, and his cry of pain became more like a strangled gargle of confusion as his powers shut off and he was sent tumbling to the ground from a height much too high.

From there, everything about that day was a blur to her. Even now, two weeks later, all she could remember was that panicked, adrenaline-filled feeling of her heart pounding and her stomach lurching from her body. Blurry visions of his body—her arms holding him as he, eyes closed, slowly faded away—lying bloody on the ground. How she'd forgotten about the anonymous ghost, who seemed to have forgotten itself, as though the victory were unexpected, until she heard the Fenton's come up behind her, having vanquished it before realizing what was going on.

And even then, they still had no idea what was going on. Frantic, they asked her all the questions. Because she had all the answers.

She remembered those one-word answers. Through her sobs, familiar words like Danny. Fenton. Phantom. Half-ghost. Accident. Fighting. Enemies. Hurt.

Love. Though she couldn't recall if that had been an answer to frantic questions or if she'd just said that to make sure he heard it.

She remembered answering similar questions from people after the ambulance finally got there. But by the time it did, she'd already given the answer to the final question.

Dead.

Still dead.

By now, the flashback of the hour had ceased running through her mind, and she finished wiping her face with a towel. Looking in the mirror, she gave another hollow laugh. Still crying.

But, for Sam, the girl who had all the answers, who knew everything about Danny Phantom—his favorite color, his secret life, that he had loved her too (the sideways hearts were never platonic between them)—she still had one question.

Slowly dragging herself back into the living room and dropping onto the couch, her hands weakly lifted the phone again and brought it around to read the message on the screen once more.

okay, i'll see u there. :) *heart*

The lack of capitalization—his laziness and façade that he wasn't as smart as his sister—the smiley face with no nose because they looked cuter that way. And the heart that meant someday, he would tell her exactly what it meant.

Except now he wouldn't.

Taking a deep breath, Sam glanced around the room, and, realizing she was alone, decided to ask aloud the question to which she did not know the answer.

"Danny…" she breathed, his name feeling strange on her lips, which frightened her more, "where will you see me?"

Her voice barely a whisper, she glanced back down at the phone, which had started ringing, making the message disappear as Tucker's caller ID popped onto her phone, signaling the start of another fight without their leader.

"Where is 'there' now?"

* * *

><p><em>This was inspired by me randomly last night deleting my text messages and doing the very thing that I made Sam hate petty girls for in this. I came across the last text I got from my little brother-whose phone recently got destroyed in a fire...long story, but everyone's fine-and I was like, "Wow, that is the last text I will ever get from that phone!" So, obviously, not inspired by something so drastic, but I thought about how I <em>could _make it drastic...and Danny Phantom-related. And this came out of me today, only with the support of _sappireswimming. _:) Thank you, love! We shall have fun with this all summer! If only for each other. :P_


	2. Pretty Lies

_**A/N: **Hehehe, oops. :) We're supposed to update these collections every week, but I got super lazy last week and didn't finish until today. Which is over a week late. SORRY! We have four prompts every week, and we choose one (or more if we are inspired). This week, I took inspiration from our "song" prompt, which sapphireswimming picked. Here is the source of inspiration:_

_"Pretty Lies" from the Count of Monte Cristo Musical_

_Life would sail on, pretty lies, full of bliss / I saw my life changing, but never changing like this… / Such pretty lies masquerading as duty and honor / everything dies even little girl storybook plans and dreams must end and / give me the world, finally as it is / Not black and white, compromise as it is / Not wrong or right; pretty lies, as it is / Albert and me: little girl, foolish boy / willing to live like a man who is willing to die / to justify a pretty lie_

_It seems like the perfect angst prompt, right? So I made it fluffy. Because life just makes that much sense with me right now. I concentrated on: "everything dies even little girl storybook plans and dreams must end and / give me the world, finally as it is / …willing to live like a man who is willing to die / to justify a pretty lie"_

_And here you have my first fluff piece in years. Forgive its awfulness. I'm trying to get better. And I'll also try to be better about replying to reviews with this chapter. :)_

* * *

><p>"What's this one?" Danny laughed, smiling as he pulled another old, yellow-paged book off of the shelf.<p>

"That's _Rapunzel_," Sam responded flatly, trying to keep her calm as Danny rummaged through her old bookshelf in the back corner of the basement. "Now can we please stop looking at my embarrassingly girly childhood fairytales and go back to studying?"

Danny, amused, ignored her and started to flip through the book, ogling at the faded drawings on the pages. "But Saaaam, it's just so funny! All these girly fairytale books, and you being," he gestured clumsily in her direction, "you. It's hilarious to think that you actually used to read this stuff."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, psh. And I believed in it, too."

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously, wiping away a tear of laughter and placing the old book back in its place.

She shrugged. "You know. When you're little you believe in fairytales, and then you grow up, and suddenly you realize it's all wrong."

She looked at him pointedly for a moment before looking back down at her book.

Danny gave her a strange look before settling back down on the floor, lying on his stomach across from Sam, who was in the same position, so he could keep eye contact with her.

"What, you don't believe in things like…like love at first sight?" he teased, batting his eyelashes playfully.

"HAH!" she laughed a little too loudly. "Never. It's lies. All of it. Just pretty lies."

Danny shrugged at her and glanced down at his work without really seeing it. "Nothing wrong with a helpful little lie every now and then."

"Helpful? Name one lie that's helpful in any way," she countered.

He looked at her seriously, "I lie every day to my parents. 'Oh, Danny, where are you going?' 'Uh, to Sam's house to study…' and then I end up fighting ghosts. I don't know if it's actually helpful, but…it feels better than the truth."

His eyes slid away from hers and back to the ground as he spoke, as though he felt insecure all of a sudden, and he started mumbling. Sam, too, blushed and looked away, not meaning to bring up something sensitive.

"Well…it was the truth this time," she supplied helpfully. "So. It's not always a lie that you're coming over to study with me."

He chuckled slightly, returning her gaze as he smiled wryly. "Yeah. I guess sometimes it's the truth."

"See? But those fairytale books, they always lie. Because no one's ever fallen in love at first sight," she asserted, nodding her head curtly and going back to writing.

But Danny noticed the strain in her voice. In fact, Danny noticed a lot more than Sam—or anyone else for that matter—thought he did. He wasn't clueless.

And he actually _had_ lied to his parents about going over to Sam's house to _study_. He'd come here with a much more serious purpose. A life-changing purpose. A friendship-bending purpose. And now was his opportunity. He could sense it as well as he could sense ghosts.

So he took a deep breath.

"What if," he started, twiddling his yellow pencil between his fingers as he stared at it, "what if I told you I didn't think they were just lies?"

She stopped writing, but she didn't look up. Her heart was beating loudly, she could feel the blood in her head. The way he'd spoken had been in that "serious-Danny" tone that he rarely took unless he was about to say something very worthwhile.

"…What?" she asked, still not looking up. She tried to keep writing, but she'd forgotten what she was about to say.

He breathed again. "What if I told you I don't think storybooks necessarily always just tell pretty lies? That I do believe in love at first sight? "

She dropped her pencil and raised her dark amethyst eyes to look him in the face. He was staring at her.

"How?" she asked, not knowing exactly what she was questioning. But he did.

"Because," he responded, "I've been in love with you since the moment we met."

And that was their first kiss.

* * *

><p>"SAM!" he threw his hands in the air when she opened the door, an insanely large grin on his face.<p>

She, for her part, stared back at him, not amused and rubbing her eyes. She was still in her pajamas and robe, holding a cup of coffee and trying desperately not to kill the man at her door.

"Come in, you glorious morning-person, you," she muttered sarcastically, opening the door enough for him to bob in energetically.

"Come on, Saaaaam, it's spring cleaning time!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he jumped into the air and plopped onto her couch.

She tried not to spill her coffee when her sarcastic laugh came out with too much force.

"Says the man who dragged his feet and whined the entire way through it last week," she mumbled, leaning against the wall next to the couch.

"That's because it was _my_ apartment," he clarified somberly. "_My_ stuff. I hate cleaning my stuff. I like it just the way it is. But _your _stuff is completely different stuff. I don't mind cleaning when it's your stuff."

He flashed her a winning smile, and she couldn't help but smirk back as she shook her head at him.

"With an attitude like that, why don't you just do it all yourself? Then I could go back to bed," she declared, yawning and scuffing her feet in the direction of her bedroom.

For some reason, Danny jolted upright when she said this, and he flew in front of her (quite literally).

"Wait, no! You have to help me. I don't…I don't know which stuff you want to keep and which to get rid of. You have to decide that for yourself, Missy," he stuttered, cocking an eyebrow to her at the end.

He sounded so sincerely panicked. Of course she had been joking. She rolled her eyes. Even morning people must lack a sense of humor at this ungodly hour.

"Fine," she said, only letting a small smile grace her lips when this one word sent Danny's whole face into a spasm of happiness, and he grabbed her arm as they went to the dreaded back room. The room where she'd piled all of her stuff for the past year.

Joy.

"All right," he said, clapping his hands together and then pointing, "I'll start on this side, and you start on that side."

"But this side is easier, Danny. That's all my stuff from when I was little. Why don't _I _go through the fun, memory lane stuff, and you can go through my wonderful college papers and old bills?" she suggested sourly.

To her surprise, he shrugged and did not put up a fight like she thought he would, "Okay. Whatever you wanna do."

She thought she saw a mischievous look of victory in his eyes as he turned to the other side, but she decided not to question it. It was best not to question anything this early in the morning. But if they were going to finish this by the end of the week, they had to start now.

Ugh.

Putting her mug down, she got on her knees and let out an exasperated sigh, just to extend her own personal misery to the rest of the world. It was what she did best, after all. She looked over at Danny, who seemed to be nervously fiddling with papers, and it didn't take him long to look back over at her.

"Where do I even start, Danny?" she asked, pouting at him.

"Um…"

He seemed to genuinely be thinking about this question, which Sam found utterly odd, since it was relatively rhetorical, but like she said. No questioning things in the morning.

"I'd start with books," he reasoned slowly, "Because they're heavy so they should go in the bottom of the giveaway box or bag or…whatever."

She raised her eyebrows at him, impressed. That…actually made sense. Nodding at him in casual thanks, she turned back to her boxes and looked for the one labeled "Books."

There it was. Right…in front of her. Weird. She'd thought it would be farther back than this. Geez, she hadn't been in this room in awhile. Time for hardcore cleaning.

But this, this was actually the fun part. She could open the box, look at all of her old books, maybe read through some of them and smile. It would take forever this way, yes, but you couldn't rush a thorough cleaning job.

Settling back to sit down, she opened the box and looked in at the neatly stacked books. Smiling, she reached in to grab one. But as she picked it up, she noticed another occupant—a shoe box—sitting directly beneath it. She definitely didn't remember that from last year's cleaning. And she'd never put shoes in the box labeled "Books."

Rolling her eyes, she sent a silent glare to the other person in the room. Only one other person ever came back here for any purpose—to find some old game to play on a date, maybe—so he must have moved things around. She smiled proudly when he fidgeted under her glare. Good. She'd made him nervous. Mission accomplished.

Looking back to the book in her hands, she noted ironically that it was an old copy of the tale of _Cinderella_. Hah. On top of the shoe box. What a…

Coincidence?

Curiously, she opened the old book and was startled nearly to the point of gasping when a note fluttered out of its pages. She picked it up, expecting an old grocery list, but the note looked crisp and perfectly new. As she unfolded it, she noted how completely different this paper felt compared to the old, soft paper of the book she'd just been attempting to read. This note was definitely very recent.

_Open the shoe box._

Her heart was pounding now. This…was weird. Her eyes shifted from side to side, as if expecting a ghost to jump out and scare her.

Oh geez. Box Ghost.

Sighing and rolling her eyes back, she gingerly reached for the box top and lifted it quickly from its perch, ready to throw the Box Ghost's scare tactic right back in his face.

But he…wasn't there. More perplexed than ever, she looked into the shoe box and saw two perfectly normal—though very pretty—clear shoes in the box. She was about to sit back and think on this strange coincidence some more when she noticed something _inside _one of the clear shoes.

And she was pretty sure her heart stopped beating right then and there.

"I, uh, was gonna get genuine glass slippers, but they don't seem to carry those anywhere, really," came the out-of-nowhere yet completely expected voice of her boyfriend from behind her.

He crouched down beside where she sat on the floor, and when she turned her pale face to him, shock and awe in her eyes, his own twinkled in amusement.

"Weird, you'd think they'd be so comfortable," he joked, reaching into the shoe and pulling out the object that had sent her into such a shock.

"Sam," he said softly, crouching on one knee in front of her, although they were at equal eye level since she was sitting on the floor, "I know you think these fairytales are still just full of pretty lies. At least, I think I recall you saying that years ago," he smiled, looking at her fondly. "But …every day I've been with you, I've been believing them more and more. And I'd like to show you that, too. If you'll have me. Heh, what…what I'm trying to ask is…Sam, will you marry me?"

He held the ring out to her, kneeling, a sparkling look of hope and fear in his eyes as she continued to gape. But she knew there was only ever one way she would answer that question from Danny. So she nodded.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>He stopped reading when he felt that familiar shiver rush through his body, up through his throat and out of his mouth.<p>

Ghost sense.

He looked apologetically at the little girl on his lap, but she smiled understandingly up at him and leapt off, scampering away to her room and her mother. Danny watched her and slowly put the book down before peeking his head outside. Maybe it was just Box Ghost lurking around or Skulker looking for a chat or a friendly roughing up.

Because, after all these years of witty banter, they both knew he would never actually capture Phantom.

A scream in the distance and the faint sounds of ghostly terror made his heart sink. He sighed heavily, turning around to take one last look at the book, toward his daughter's room, and…

"What're you waiting for, Ghost Boy?" Sam asked, nudging him playfully in the side as they both looked anxiously out the window. After all these years, she still called him a _boy_.

He glanced at her before turning his head to the old book—it was Tuesday, _Sleeping Beauty _night—on the coffee table.

"What if they are just pretty lies?" he asked wearily.

Sam turned to him slowly, taking his down-turned face in one hand and gently coaxing him to look at her. "What do you mean, Danny?"

Turning almost shamefully from her, he nodded toward the book, toward the room where his wife had just finished tucking in their daughter and reassuring her that…

"What if it's not really always going to be okay?" he whispered. "Do you really believe that damned prince is always going to be able to come back just fine, and they can go back to the way it was before?"

Sam could feel him trembling beneath her fingertips, and she slowly gave him a small smile in return.

"Danny," she said, pulling him close until their faces were just an inch apart, "You know I've never believed in fairytales."

He shut his eyes, glassy with a coat of unshed tears of fear. That was not what he wanted to hear.

"_But,_ you've proven me wrong every time," she emphasized, reaching for his left hand with hers and gently running a finger across his ring. "I think it's time to prove it to yourself."

Both of her hands now closed around his, and she shook it determinedly, looking him in the eyes.

"I believe in you," she whispered.

They leaned in for a short kiss, and he allowed himself to smile ever so slightly at her before glancing one last time at the fairytale and going ghost. She crossed her arms as she watched him leave, smiling with a confidence she wasn't sure she really had. How many times had they done this?

And how many times had they both been worried he wouldn't return?

But as she slowly walked back to their bedroom, she picked up the book and held it close to her, willing it to spread its magical fairytale beliefs onto her for yet another night. She hadn't had any reason to believe in those pretty lies when she was fourteen; but now, she had no reason _not _to believe in them. And, telling herself that over and over, she placed the book on her night stand, turned out her lamp and, smiling, fell asleep..

She awoke to warm lips on hers.

Groggily, her eyes fluttered open, and she her husband, smirking slightly, looking down at her.

"Hah, it worked," he mused.

She smiled. "Danny."

"Sorry I took so long coming back. But," he held up the book Sam had put on the night stand, "when I got back, somebody said she couldn't fall asleep without me finishing the story."

She laughed lightly, "As if she hasn't heard it a million times before."

"Hey, it's always good to reinforce it," he kissed her again. "Because it's the truth."

* * *

><p><em>Wow. That was so fluffy. And so not my normal style for DP. This is what happens when you start vidding Disney on youtube. You become a walking ball of happy fluff and fairytales. But don't worry (or perhaps do); this week's prompt shan't be so fluffeh. :) Reviews are very appreciated, should you choose to leave one! <em>


	3. When the World Brings You Down

_A/N - Got struck with inspiration for this last night...but, as usual, I forgot my perfect lines of dialogue and reaction word choices by morning. _

_So I spent today trying to remember._.._and I only partially succeeded. No good, no good. But I always need sibling fics. This takes place when Jazz knows, but Danny doesn't _know_ she knows. You know. Maybe having a touch of "Control Freaks" or self-questioning in here..._

_In case any of you didn't know, sapphireswimming and I are "hosting" a Phandom-Wide Rewatch of the Series. We started today with "Mystery Meat," and we will continue every Friday at 7 PM EST with a different episode. The goal is to rewatch and analyze the series and bring the phandom back to life with fics and fanart and general phan participation. :) We hope you want to join us!_

* * *

><p><em>When the World Brings You Down<em>

She sighed and stomped her boots on the mat, shaking the water off of her umbrella before closing the door and shutting the madness outside. The storm out there was terrible, and she was glad to finally escape it. Jazz cringed as she unzipped her rain coat, covering her mostly-dry hands with the slime of raindrops. She placed it delicately on a hanger and shoved the jacket into the front closet, pushing her problems away with it. Now she was home, out of the stresses of school (minus her homework, of course, but that would get finished with no problems), and out of the messy atmosphere of the horrible storm occurring outside. She released another relieved breath before putting on a smile and stepping lightly toward the kitchen to grab a snack before getting to work on her papers—all due next month.

The television crackled, succumbing to the power of the storm outside. She saw Danny out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting on the couch, feet planted firmly on the ground and his elbows resting on his knees. His hands were clasped and placed thoughtfully in front of his mouth, the look in his eyes both intent and somehow lost at the same time. She walked briskly through his line of vision and frowned at his lack of response. She slowed down and paused before turning her back to the kitchen and facing the living room once more. Standing next to the television, the static noise nearly unbearable, and she was about to scold Danny for even keeping the thing on before she made out two barely-perceptible words coming from the set.

"_Danny Phantom…_"

She clamped her mouth shut, a nervous quiver running through her body as her eyes widened, and she glanced at Danny. He made no reaction. He hadn't noticed her automatic response. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. And then her nerves were replaced with concern.

"Danny, what are you doing?" she asked, trying to keep her tone reprimanding but soft at the same time so as to neither arouse suspicion nor hurt him in any way.

He blinked once. "Watching TV," he deadpanned. His voice sounded quiet and shook just the slightest bit. She could only tell because she was searching for it, but she heard it.

"No kidding," she responded, narrowing her eyes needlessly – he would not take his eyes off the screen to look at her. "I mean, what is this, the news? Why are you watching this, especially when the transmission isn't even coming in right? You _never_ watch the news."

His gaze shifted just a touch for a second, and she could tell he was thinking of an excuse as he took a deep breath.

"I, uh…have a school project," he thought quickly. She could practically see the gears in his mind frantically swirling to come up with an answer. "Lancer assigned it to us. Has to be about a current topic or something. Now shh."

She had to admit – he was getting better at his excuses. Still not good, but better.

She opened her mouth to rebut only to be stopped by a loud screech coming from the television set. Turning her head toward the noise, she watched the screen as people scrambled helplessly away, the camera panning upward to a shot of Danny Phantom – _her brother _– and a ghost she didn't recognize.

But, then, what ghosts _did _she recognize?

"It is still unclear as to whether Inviso-Bill was intending to harm the citizens or hinder the other ghost's attacks. His blasts caused damage to several buildings, but no one was injured as a direct result of his strikes. Though his motives and allegiance may be elusive, one thing remains certain: Inviso-Bill adds one more issue to the ghostly problems that Amity Park encounters on a near-daily basis…"

The report carried on with theories and explanations and interviews with local citizens, most of them speaking _un_favorably of Danny. Jazz shifted uncomfortably and glanced back at her brother. Every time someone with a negative opinion appeared, she expected to see him get angry. Instead, an indescribable pain danced around her heart as she watched his eyes flinch and gloss over with unshed tears at every comment.

He was really taking this to heart. Perhaps…perhaps _he_ didn't even know whether he was doing more harm than good. She hadn't thought about it much – hadn't had the opportunity to since she technically "didn't know" his secret. But this was _Danny_ – her little brother – and she knew, no matter how emotional and frustrating he got, that he would never hurt a fly. She took it on faith that what he was doing was good and just and right. And she still believed it was.

But…maybe _he_ didn't. He'd never been the most confident boy in the world - the most argumentative, maybe. But confident in his abilities? His motives? His image? Not at all. And, suddenly, Jazz realized her brother had the weight of the world on his shoulders - a world that was constantly bringing him down.

"Danny," she started softly, biting her lip to keep from revealing too much, "I know sometimes you might feel like the world is against you and that nobody cares about you, but I just wanted you to know that I care. And that I think you're a good kid."

She could practically feel his heart skip a beat in fear as he jolted out of his position to stare at her, eyes wide. "WHAT? Um—I mean—er, thanks, Jazz, but…wh-why are you saying that…just now?"

Her face relaxed into a smile to reassure him she knew nothing. "I don't know. We just had a talk in Psychology class in school today about how it's good for people to have a support system. And I just wanted to let you know that I'm a part of yours."

A particularly nasty splice of lightning lit up the house and caused the television to crackle into blackness. Jazz had never been so happy to see the power go out.

"Oh well," Danny sighed dejectedly, pounding on the power button of the remote control as he fought to get the reception back. "It wasn't that great a news report, anyway."

_Understatement_, she thought as she nodded. But doing her best to feign innocence, Jazz turned and queried, "But what about your homework assignment? How will you do it now?"

She watched the panic return to his face for a split second and nearly laughed. He'd gotten much better at lying these past few months – a fact that, quite frankly, made her a bit forlorn – but he was still horrible at it. "Oh, erm…well, it wasn't due until next week anyway. So I'll just…do it on something else."

He sighed at his needless save of face, and Jazz just shook her head. She was beginning to think he would never tell her. But as long as he was safe, she would let him continue in his secrecy. She just hoped it wouldn't continue for too terribly long…

"Fair enough. I was just gonna go grab a snack. You want something?"

"I always want something if it's food," he responded innocently, relaxing completely at the change of subject.

She smiled and took a step toward the kitchen before turning back hesitantly. "You know, I meant what I said. I'm always here for you, Danny."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and she strained her ears as she walked slowly away. She hid behind the doorway to the kitchen and observed him alone in the living room. His smile faded, his eyes returning to their distant anguish, and he turned his head to the storm raging outside his home.

"At least someone is," he whispered.

_In the darkest of nights, I will be there_

_Just stay with me_

* * *

><p><em>Quotestitle for this chapter brought to you by the David Hodges song "Hard to Believe." I highly recommend anything this man has ever sung or written. It's beautiful._


End file.
